Софи Келли - A Tale Оf Two Kitties

Tai chi was also where I’d met Roma. When the class had formed a circle to begin our warm-ups Roma had been beside me. She was new to the group as well and we’d bonded over our mutual inability to master White Crane Spreads Wings. I sometimes wondered if Mayville Heights would have started to feel like home so quickly if I had turned Rebecca’s invitation down.

We walked around the building to the tall wooden gazebo in the back overlooking the water. Maggie had brought turkey-and-bacon sandwiches on thick slices of honey-granola bread. Roma handed me her insulated travel mug. “Coffee,” she said with a smile.

“Because how could we forget that?” Maggie said drily. She and Roma were drinking lemonade.

I ate about half of my sandwich and then eyed the two of them. “So what’s up?” I asked.

Roma set down her lemonade. “There’s something I’d like to ask you.”

“If you’d like me to feed the cats for you next week the answer is yes.”

She smiled and shook her head. “No. Kathleen, I know you already said you’d be a bridesmaid, but I’d like you to be my maid of honor.”

I stared at her. I hadn’t expected the question. “But what about Maggie?” I said. “She’s the reason you and Eddie met. She should be your maid of honor.”

Roma and Eddie had gotten together after Maggie had made a full-sized, very lifelike Eddie Sweeney mannequin for a display about the history of sport in this part of the state for Winterfest a couple of years ago. The only way she’d been able to get Faux Eddie from her studio to the community center was in the front seat of Roma’s SUV. That had started a rumor that Roma and the Minnesota Wild star were seeing each other, and pretty soon it wasn’t just a rumor.

“I may have indirectly gotten things started, but there wouldn’t be a wedding if you hadn’t urged Roma to throw caution to the wind and listen to her heart.” Maggie paused, a dill pickle halfway to her mouth. “And that was a lot of clichés in one sentence.”

“I wouldn’t be marrying Eddie if it weren’t for both of you,” Roma said. “Which is why I want you both to be my maids of honor.” She looked from Maggie to me. “Please say yes.”

“Yes!” Maggie and I said in unison.

Roma threw an arm around each of us and hugged us. Then she straightened up and gave me a sly smile. “And when you and Marcus get married Maggie and I will be your maids of honor.”

I felt my face flood with color. Roma and Maggie exchanged a look. They were getting a kick out of my flustered reaction. I held up both hands. “Okay. I might, might have been thinking about spending the rest of my life with Marcus.”

“So ask him,” Maggie said, popping the pickle in her mouth.

Roma tucked a stray strand of hair behind one ear. “I highly recommend it,” she said with a smile.

I took a sip of my coffee and eyed Maggie. “What about you and Brady? And don’t give us that ‘we’re just friends’ speech.”

Maggie shrugged. “I don’t know if I want to get married at all, let alone if Brady would be the guy.” She took a bite of her sandwich, chewed and then realized we were waiting for something more from her. “What if you get married and then you wake up some morning and realize you don’t love that person anymore?” She gestured with her sandwich and little bits of shredded lettuce fell onto her lap.

“What if you get married and then you wake up every morning for the rest of your life thinking how lucky you are to be able to spend one more day with that other person?” Roma asked. “Except for the mornings that you want to smack them with a burned bagel because they’re all cheery and full of sunshine and don’t need coffee to turn into a human being.”

I laughed. “I hope Eddie knows how lucky he is,” I said.

“Because most days I resist the urge to hurl burned breakfast food at him?” Roma said with a laugh.

“No, because he gets to spend all the rest of his days with you.” I held up a hand. “And yes, I know I sound like the heroine of some romantic novel. It’s still true.”

“I’m the lucky one,” she said, looking down at the ring on her left hand.

“What kind of wedding dress are you going to wear?” Maggie asked.

Roma made a face. “Do I really need one?”

“You don’t need one, but you’d look beautiful in one,” I said.

I caught Maggie’s eye. “Shopping trip!” we both said.

“Maybe,” Roma said, “but nothing lacy or poufy or big. And I don’t know about white. I’d just like something very plain and simple.”

Maggie made a sound in her throat that made me think of Owen when he was annoyed.

“Roma, you do know you’ve pretty much just described those big recycled paper bags Harry uses out here when he collects the dead leaves and plants, don’t you?”

She laughed. “I just want to marry Eddie. I don’t have a clue what to choose for a dress.”

“We’ll find you the perfect dress,” Maggie said, licking mustard off her little finger. “I promise, no pouf, no white.” She frowned. “There are lots of possibilities. There’s ivory, vanilla, linen.” She studied Roma. “Cornsilk would look good with your hair. Or maybe ecru.”

I reached for my coffee. “I have no idea what ecru is but I’m sure you’d look good in it. And maybe those big sleeves. I don’t know the name of them.”

“Mutton,” Maggie said. She looked at Roma, all seriousness, although I saw the glint in her green eyes. “How do you feel about hoopskirts?”

Roma folded her arms over her chest and smiled at us. “You do realize that as the bride it’s my prerogative to choose the maid-of-honor dresses? How do you two feel about chartreuse?”

“When I was in art school I dated a guy with a chartreuse Volkswagen Microbus,” Maggie offered, seemingly unconcerned about wearing a yellow-green maid-of-honor dress for Roma’s wedding.

I picked up the dill pickle spear that was lying on the wax paper that had been around my sandwich and set it next to the bit of crust left from Maggie’s sandwich. She smiled a thank-you at me.

“The color chartreuse gets its name from a type of liqueur made by a group of French monks starting back in the eighteenth century,” I said.

“It’s a tertiary color,” Mags added.

“That means you mix a primary and a secondary color together?” I asked.

She smiled at me. “Exactly.”

Roma rubbed the space between her eyebrows with two fingers. “Okay, you can stop with the history of chartreuse. We’ll go wedding dress shopping next week. But no hoopskirts and no sleeves named after meat.”

“Deal,” I said, grinning at Maggie over the top of Roma’s head.

Roma took a drink of her lemonade and gestured at me with the bottle. “Have you spoken to Thorsten?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “Why?”

“Because I think he found the dog that tangled with Owen. Yesterday afternoon he brought in a stray he found running loose a little farther up Mountain Road from your house.”

I reached for my coffee. “What makes you think it’s the dog Owen encountered?”

“It had several infected scratches on its muzzle and one shoulder. They look like something a cat’s claws did.”

“Is the dog going to be all right?”

Roma nodded. “Yes, but if you hear of anyone who wants a dog, please let me know. He’s thin and he’s obviously been on his own for a while, but he’s a good-natured dog.” She gave me a sheepish grin. “Don’t tell Owen I said that.”

We sat there for another five minutes talking and then Roma stood up. “This was fun,” she said. “And I hate to go, but I do need to go check on a horse.” She hugged Maggie and me, promising she’d call to work out a time for our shopping trip.